


Separate Ourselves

by squishyflamingo



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Durin Family, Durincest, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Romance, Sexual Content, Slash, Slow Build, Smut, Thorin's companions - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:03:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squishyflamingo/pseuds/squishyflamingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ori didn't think he demanded much of himself. Survive a new life thousands of miles from home, get into a post-grad program at Chicago Uni, eventually tell Dori his sexual interests were of the male persuasion. Someday find romance worthy of Lord Bryon himself.</p><p>None of it had to fall exactly in that order.</p><p>So, naturally, it all goes Pete Tong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Find a Cure for My Life

**Author's Note:**

> Woo! The very first Hobbit-verse fic I post on here and it's an AU. 
> 
> Shh, I've got this, shh. 
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson's interpretation of Tolkien's works - all names are more or less from http://axebow.hakaze.com/char/edda.htm, the Norse Poetic Edda Tolkien pretty much created his amazing Dwarf Company from. The title is taking from Biffy Clyro's Black Chandelier.
> 
> Warnings: I do not have a beta so any mistakes made are mine - there is an OFC, but she's briefly "important".
> 
> Yaay, I hope you all enjoy!

The first time Ori became abruptly reconnected with his scattered adopted family it had been a decade since they'd last gotten together, but that was in England and he was now in America, nervously taking a pull of beer at Liar's Club.

 

Chicago's “punk scene” was very colorful, to say the least. He didn't dislike it nor was it particularly his cup of tea (not even during his dodgy secondary education in London – that was Nori's shtick for sure), but Danny had been _so_ insistent that Ori would _love_ Zakk (what gave it away – the exotic double k?); Zakk was _different_ and could distract him from his life-sucking post-grad applications.

 

Application, really, since short of prostitution he'd do _anything_ to get into the University of Chicago. Prostitution was actually becoming less debatable at this juncture.

 

The bar's low lights cast an eerie ombre red over everything, saturating worn leather jackets and bleached hair like blood. A ridiculously fit woman was serving drinks with coquettish fanfare, clearly a favorite by the way the patrons left nothing less than five dollar tips.

 

Some band was blasting almost indiscernible overhead, a jostle young men nudging shoulders and bobbing their heads in drunken tandem, spilling whatever alcohol was in their hands.

 

The 24-year-old teetered on his stool, utterly out-of-place in his Topman knitted t-shirt and skinny chinos. Even England-born and bred his friends called him a River North boy, Chicago's near-equivalent to being a posh Londoner.

 

He was only mildly offended whenever they teased. Ori and his brothers were well-off, yeah, but they worked hard and loved each other dearly (on good days when Nori wasn't counting cards at casinos – for the record, they were from Finsbury Park, damn it – and if Ori had to brag, well, he might have gotten his BA in English and Modern Languages at Oxford).

 

It was still nice to relax and have some breathing room, be that much more himself and really enjoy a night out with someone of the same gender sans worrying. Without thinking his oldest brother would pop up like some mental evangelist, promising fire and brimstone for his secret homosexual ways. Ori found himself further mollified by two cute sweethearts in swing dresses Eskimo kissing at a table adjacent him.

 

“THE DWARVES,” Zakk shouted into his ear out of nowhere, all smiles and extremely pleased with himself for whatever reason.

 

Shit, right, he was on a date.

 

“WHAT?” Ori blurted back, rubbing his chest from the scare.

 

“THAT'S WHO'S PLAYIN'. CHICAGO BAND. LOVE THIS SONG.”

 

Great. Fantastic. Stupendous. Zakk was lovely, really, paying for dinner and attempting not to seem like he was trying too hard, the poor dear. But there was not going to be a second or third date, no matter how bangtidy his arse looked in those jeans. Danny meant well, but it was not meant to be – and Ori did not want to come out to Dori dating a hooligan.

 

That wasn't Ori being too crotchety for his age. He was fairly certain Zakk described himself as one earlier over burgers. Not that he was particularly against seeing someone so...spirited either. Zakk was rather brilliant, talented, sweet. A nice personality laundry list that just wasn't what Ori really wanted right now, or even close to what he _needed._ A pretty young man stuck in the past with the Sex Pistols, boasting tasteful gauges, first name inked onto the knuckles of his left hand, cute star on the thumb, bent on getting his end away in the bar bathrooms with a bookish British ginger.

 

Amidst his maudlin thoughts the busty bartender hailed a slew of newcomers at the door, few girls and a couple of guys, and he didn't give them a second look.

 

One of them gave _him_ a double-take though.

 

While Zakk was desperately trying to woo him with stale mutterings of endearment, heavy palm awkwardly petting his leg, there was a screech akin to a pterodactyl above the bar's din. The screech of a tartan-covered guardian angel sent to free him from his good manners. Ori all but crashed into Zakk when the noise was accompanied by a young woman throwing herself at him like he was on fire and needed to be put out.

 

“ORVILLE!”

 

He was off his stool, spinning and spinning in this girl's arms, this bubbly thing that had called him by his full first name. Only the bloody government, Dori when he was cross enough to spit and people that had a death wish by biro ever addressed him as Orville.

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

 

He knew that Madonna-worthy gap-toothed smile anywhere.

 

“Loni.”

 

Zakk was shouting at her for being so reckless, a few choice words flying between him and one of her male friends. Once again Ori took no notice, anchoring himself in this surreal moment to look over a ghost from his past, incarnate, and in her he saw so many other things. Kili, Fili, their uncle Thorin, Oin, Gloin, the amazing brothers Bofur and Bombur, their eclectic cousin Bifur...Dwalin and Balin.

 

His tongue loosened enough to bid his hapless, flustered date goodbye straight after that, promising him things that he'd never recall later – only it worked as Zakk's anger was successfully diffused. He left sad, most likely a bit heartsick that whatever flimsy and puppy love-produced future he'd already written up for the two of them was dashed.

Zakk really was a good guy; he'd find someone worth his amazing artistic mind and wholehearted treacly attentions, parting less-than-lovers, but on good terms.

 

_Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love._

 

He's gone after that, and Ori is not put out for having to pay the tab left (4 beers isn't going to burn a hole in his pocket) and thinking if there was any sort of distraction to really get the job done, to take his mind off having extract himself from his birthplace 2 years ago, to starting over, to finishing school...

 

Loni is taller now, almost as tall as him, her updo dark up top and cherry underneath. Her and her little gang had been drinking somewhere else before Liar's Club because she's slurring her sentences together. He makes out things about certain people from the their own group, but he forgets them easily as he's now finished a shot (or 4) on the house (busty bartender and one of Loni's guys are bests with benefits).

 

She reminded him of when they would tabletop with the Durin brothers, and she'd been so upset that they forced her to be the elf maiden (she wanted to be a shape-shifter) he'd insisted on taking the character instead, and he'd been one of her first crushes. His ears redden at that.

 

They leave around 3 AM in a whirlwind of bone-crushing hugs between the two of them - he busses her cheek - exchanging mobile numbers and promises for coffee.

 

Ori is on the CTA Brownline to Kingsbury Plaza, thumbing an apology text to Danny in prelude to whatever Zakk may or may not say when they next meet up, and finds himself stupidly smiling even when he fumbles through the door into the townhouse, takes a very ungraceful piss and flops onto his sheets, remaining unmoving until sunlight punches through the window.

 

It makes him ache for overcast mornings.

 

Nori is the one to wake him, surprise surprise, probably having arrived home just after him with his hair no longer coiffed, vest unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up. He is half-joking, half-serious when he asks why his little brother was grinning in his sleep as if he'd just killed someone while ironically flipping a butterfly knife open and closed like some Happy Days greaser.

 

Ori just laughed and laughed, rolling onto the floor, and while Nori is certain he HAS killed someone, eyes alight as he asks how he did it, does he need help hiding the body, Dori is getting ready for work and only has to motion with two fingers to come downstairs before the two have splashed cold water onto their faces, enjoying a rare family breakfast together.

 

Dori has put out two very syrupy black cups of coffee out for them, sitting down slowly as his hawk-like gaze scrapes across them. His successful, college-educated Ori and...well.

 

Nori raked in some good money most of the time. Why he kept coming back to them, why he followed them to the states, 35 and wanting to be out from under Dori's thumb, maybe they'd never really know. There was nothing traditional about their family.

 

“So, what's her name?”

 

Ori stopped daydreaming of his childhood enough to choke on the coffee halfway down his throat, hissing at Nori, “Are you serious?” He saw Dori simultaneously stop pouring one of his prepared loose-leaf blends into a thermos out of his peripheral.

 

_Bollocks, shitting effing sweet merciful God, forgive me, take me away from this, I'm not ready-_

 

“As a heart-attack, munchkin.” Nori absently scribbled something into a moleskin, but it couldn't be anything too important; he never did his bookie stuff out in the open, even around his brothers. “Out with it.”

 

And, yeah, technically Loni was a girl (wait, she _definitely_ was a girl, not technically), but she was of the feminine variety and he wasn't _interested_ in her. Not in the way that had Nori's lips twitching with barely suppressed mirth.

 

Damn Nori for being so keen all the time – he had half the mind to retort, “Her name is Loni – remember when her dad and she would fly over to visit with the crew? – and FYI, I used to steal your Ziggy Stardust LPs as wank fodder.”

 

The last part of it would go over as well as Arthur Canon Doyle killing off Sherlock Holmes. But as his awkward silence stretched the more he began to think maybe now was the time to come out. Sure, he'd sworn to do so much for himself before that, and had all but shuddered at the idea last night. It was getting so much more difficult to put off, though. He didn't traipse in glitter every night down in Boystown, sucking body shots off Caesar, the only straight bartender at Spin (that was _once_ , OK?) and back in London it'd been the hushiest closeted gay existence with one visit to Blush in Stoke Newington, then straight back home on the tube repenting the entire way.

 

And he was safe, too. You didn't make it into Oxford and live under Dorian Rimmer's roof without having at least a dose of common sense, no matter if Dori hadn't given him “the talk” to pertain to gay sex, per se. But it did its job. Plus, a fumbling one-off, some handful of snogging sessions and a blowjob did not a veritable sex life make. He was a rather sad homosexual, really. The Saddest Little Homosexual, certain of his preference in men but more enamored with the written word.

 

Ugh, it isn't THAT big of a deal Ori! Worst case scenario Dori might kick him out, cut off his funds, but Ori could easily get a job with just a BA and the ace credentials he had.

 

His friends are beautiful, supportive human beings, especially when he went a bit mental on his worst days. But this here, this hodgepodge household, was it. And he was so unreasonably scared of losing it. What if neither of them ever came round to the idea, or never forgave him?

 

No matter how much he coached himself, silence now a ringing in his ears, the grand “I'm gay” unveiling he had tried to articulate on his tongue sounded suspiciously more like, “You remember Loni Thomsen? We got into contact and we went out together. We've made plans to see each other again.”

 

Nori choked on his drink this time, then tried to compose himself with a surreptitious throat clearing. Dori was back at the breakfast table, slamming his hands down as if this were the best gossip of 2013 since Kate Middleton got pregnant.

 

Ori pinched the bridge of his nose, certain his oncoming headache was a mix between a prolonged hangover and self-induced exasperation.

 

_This is why you can't have nice things._

 

 


	2. Wake Up, It's a Beautiful Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fan the sinking flame of hilarity with the wing of friendship; and pass the rosy wine."  
> Dickens, Charles  
> The Old Curiosity Ship (ch. VII)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still getting into the swing of this story's writing flow, but I'm getting there! Thank you so much for the comments, bookmarks and kudos. Y'all are peaches. Beautiful, yummy peaches. <3
> 
> Disclaimer: Check Chapter 1.
> 
> Warnings: Same as Chapter 1, but also I have never been to any sort of cosmetology school, I've never driven a truck, nor am I in a union job. Anything I pull from my ass is second-hand experience of my mother, my grandfather/friends and cousins.
> 
> Up next - a nice little light is set under our precious Ori. Also, FILI AND KILI.

Loni texted and called him a staggering amount over the next two weeks, free days constantly clashing.

 

She worked Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning at a salon in Evanston as a hair washer and dryer, Tuesday and Thursday dedicated to classes at Tricoci University of Beauty Culture.

 

Her father Finn, sadly, had not been fit to care for her by the time she started high school. Dwalin Fundin had known Finn best. He and Balin took up the parental torch without complaint when no one else could, staying in Glasgow long enough to tie up loose ends. Balin found a perfect professor position in Illinois, where Loni had grown up, and Dwalin eventually wrangled a well-paying lorry driver gig that kept him busy in high-volume seasons, but Loni found no faults in the arrangement.

 

They loved her unconditionally and that's all she cared about.

 

The Durins had flown to America from New Zealand sometime before the Rimmer siblings did, settling in San Diego, California first. Thorin, ever an enigma, found any odd job around the world that would keep his nephews from wanting for anything. Fili and Kili's mother Dis passed from illness the summer before, the youngest of the elder Durin generation, Frerin, MIA during a tour of Iraq.

 

Thorin settled on the rather lucrative truck driving industry at Dwalin's behest. Fili put himself through college and worked union carpenter jobs, and with Kili 18 he wasted no time finding himself a trade.

 

So many still remained off the radar, but Ori did not mind the reprieve, or he might go into information overload. He lay in bed a lot, mulling over other significant losses, doubly counting his luckiness.

 

At the beginning of Loni and his third consecutive week of rekindled friendship he finally confessed to his stupid faux pas. Dori and Nori were beginning to pester him as to why she hadn't come over.

 

(“You _did_ invite her, didn't you? I thought I raised you right!” Dori simpered whenever he caught Ori reading at the breakfast nook.)

 

“You told them we were dating. Stop me if I'm off the mark, but I wasn't hammered enough to forget you serenading your love of cock quite explicitly that evening.”

 

“LONI, I did _not_ ,” Ori argued at a low decibel, thinking the cafe inhabitants around him might have heard her through the earpiece of his phone.

 

He was sat at an Argo Tea on State with a Teappucino (a menu item that probably got a lot of guff for its name, so he took pity on it – wasn't half bad, too), waiting to meet with Danny and his beau Craig.

 

She didn't sound too upset and he flew high with a moderately free conscience.

 

“Hey, sharing that sort of intimate stuff with your relatives is hard. Like, I almost baked a cake and wrote out 'I kissed a girl and I liked it' with frosting when I was...shit, 16? Hey, don't laugh, I balance anxiety with humor. So, for now, I can be your beard and maybe down the line just tell Dori you're bi. 'Tis a little white lie.”

 

Ori mulled over the moral gray area that this “little white lie” presented before puffing out, “You'd seriously do that for me? Harboring lustful, unrequited feelings for me when we were 12-year-olds aside, it _was_ my nervous word-vomit that did it. ”

 

“Please, I get to pretend to be your girlfriend. I'm between Mr. or Ms. Wrong myself, so I see no harm in it,” a soft, cheerful 'have a great day!' interrupted her, the soft rustling of wind, and Ori could hear Loni respond, “You too!”

 

“Loni...are you at a drive-thru?”

 

“...Yes.”

 

“You said that you don't...have a car?”

 

“Well, um-”

 

Ori bent over, cupping his mobile, being _incredibly_ subtle. A student at the table across the cafe slowed down her frantic last-minute-essay keystrokes to side-eye him. “Tell me _**right now**_ you didn't just walk up to a drive-thru.”

 

“I – hey – they know me, alright?”

 

“Oh my God, you fucking mentalist Americans.”

 

“I don't complain about your weird right-side-of-the-car-left-side-of-the-street bullshit! Or how _weirdly_ you name everything. Chip and PIN? _Chip and PIN?_ It's a _credit card reader_. Also, I'm eccentric. Bet you haven't fake-dated anyone like me before!”

 

“Yes, that's true; I can mark **tits** and **fanny** off my Bucket List.”

 

Which is when any social decorum Ori was raised with left him. He laughed so hard he was gasping. There was a tell-tale _thump_ on the other end of the line, and Ori was afraid as well as certain that Loni had fallen over.

 

Danny and Craig discovered him red-faced and weeping into his Teappucino.

 

He explained the whole debacle, having good enough grace to appear contrite when his wild gesticulation grew timid.

 

Danny offered him sanctuary for as long as he needed, should Ori's Worst Case Scenerio ever happen.

 

Craig demanded he be on speed-dial for tickets out of the country ASAP, no questions asked. Both heartening, despairing and illegal-sounding.

 

Ori knew some spot-on people.

 

-

 

Three days later the duo slapped together a haphazard plan for their sham relationship and Part 1 of Paying Loni Back for Being a Prat (working title) was in place.

 

Finals week was coming up.

 

Loni wanted to practice hairstyling as much as possible, and what was easier than starting on a man?

 

“You've had the same messy $2 haircut since we were kids,” she had urged, picking at his copper tresses like a general formulating the most optimal plan of attack. “Two dollars being probable cost of the salad bowl and safety scissors your older brother has used to cut this mop. Really, your color is gorgeous and you wear name brand clothing like a svelte god; Moe Howard is definitely proud you kept his legacy going for so long. If Dori complains it's not respectable then you can blame your _girlfriend_ for pussy whipping you into it.”

 

“Moe Howard?”

 

“Never mind, darling.”

 

So, heart in his throat, Ori gripped the edges of her styling cape in one of the school salon chairs they were allowing her use of.

 

He jumped up at least twice like a meerkat during preparation, dipping through a mercurial roller coaster of emotions at having to depart from the one last memento of his old self until a spray bottle came into the picture and he was finally sitting pacified, wet and sulking for el maestro to begin.

 

Loni spread out her weapons in tactful array, deciding between different trimmer clips while muttering that “the number 8 will do for the sides” then after some eerie shuffling of metal “no, no the 7-”

 

“Jesus wept, Loni, you sound like you're doing measurements for my coffin – please, please, just...put me out of my misery.”

 

“Shh,” she soothed, manicured nails raking relaxing trails along his scalp and he melted, boneless, into his chair with a pitiful whine, “I got you, babe. If it helps to close your eyes, go ahead. I take no offense. I swear though I _do_ got you. 'Kay?”

 

Ori rolled his eyes up to her and saw an extended pinky, and the kid in him that did actually fear Dori hating a drastic _haircut_ , let alone his _sexuality_ , sealed the deal with a good ol' pinky promise.

 

He closed his eyes, counted loud in his head in a way that he had when Nori would begrudgingly play hide 'n seek with him after Nori's mum ran off and he was forced to move in with Dori and Ori's mummy.

 

Perhaps it was his trip back down memory lane, but he was shortly at 221 when Loni gently chucked at his chin. He held still, blinking slowly, watching as she finished his fringe with those sharp scissors, stepped back, zeroed in for a second sweep and...

 

“I'm gonna...grab a sample of matte styling paste that my teacher Ms. Scarlet gave us. Hold a sec.”

 

She was gone and Ori was left alone, staring blankly at all of the trimmings on the floor, casualties of war, scared witless to chance a peek in the wide mirror before him. Loni swanned back in soon enough, anyhow, rubbing her hands together with a gorgeous smelling product that slid through his strands like liquid silk.

 

Truthfully his entire head felt at least a tad lighter.

 

_C'mon, let's “bright side of life” this shite. Carpe diem._

 

Loni flicked what he guessed were errant clippings off his ears and retreated with eyes big as saucers, hands spread, a general-turned-magician after their prestige.

  
Ori stood up, legs pins and needles, but smarmy enough to scoff, “Really, try not to be TOO chuffed – oh. Oh.”

 

He was hot.

 

He was extremely hot.

 

He dressed well, that was a given, but he'd never been this level of fit before - ego aside.

 

“You are my magnum opus.”

 

He kept playing with his fringe, obsessed with its bounce and curve. He'd been transformed. A miracle.

 

_Move the rice, move the peas – it's Maria!_

 

“Goddamn it, Ori - EMBRACE ME.”

 

- 

 

Part 2 of Ori Is Loni's Bitch ended up...

 

A _smidgen_ more complex.

 

They wanted to test-run their “budding new romance” on someone that wasn't Dori (or Nori – Nori, actually, may be the hardest to pull one over on once he saw them interact in person – he could catch The Pope bluffing) and Loni was attempting to utilize her outdated network so Ori could connect with their erstwhile extended family on his own. The first and easiest on that list was Balin (whom he was not going to pester about writing a good recommendation letter to the University of Chicago, he would not, he had to _behave_ ) – Dwalin rarely used his room, permanently on the road it seemed, but Loni still lived with him.

 

She eased into the situation gradually with her guardian, so excited that another familiar face had relocated to the Midwest, _yaay!_

 

A pinch of 'he took me out for dinner', a dash of 'we went to a movies', huge helpings of 'he's such a _swell_ guy', stir vigorously and – BOOM - 'we're going out!'

 

Of course Balin wished to invite young Orville ( _ahahah_ ) over for lunch on an open Saturday because it'd been too long! He'd always had a soft spot for Dorian's prodigal brother, joining them in deep, meaningful chats, analyzing Dicken's works when he was just a lad and Nori had taken the other children under his wing, teaching them how to nick wallets.

 

Good times.

 

The following days flew by and the infamous Saturday Afternoon rolled around. It was both their turns to be utter wrecks.

 

Ori experienced first-hand a full-on, legit diva meltdown. He had so far caught three pairs of knickers, two mismatched pumps and a thong (earning a reviewed respect of transvestites) with one dress-that-was-a-bleeding-shirt-not-a-dress.

 

Women.

 

Loni resumed ferreting around her duffel bag, only in undergarments, hopping around a Tricoci Uni loo and clutching at another pair of more reputable dresses for ransom, all but frothing.

 

Anyone who walked in right this instant may have called the cops.

 

“Alright, love, alright,” Ori shoved the rejected garments he'd been holding into the bag, prying her fingers from the crinkled material one-by-one. “Let's have a looksee, yeah?” In her right she held something too dark, too Helena Bonham Carter, but in the left, lo, something _cute t_ o sweeten the deal!

 

Small mercies.

 

“I don't want to mess this up for you, y'know? The world is shitty enough without having to think the people that cleaned your puke, helped you learn how to ride a bike, listened to you cry about wanting to fit into the world would just...drop you.”

 

Ori didn't know what to say, taken aback by such a candid omission. Yeah, that was pretty much it in a nutshell. He exhaled loudly, lips brushing Loni's temple in quiet thanks before he shook the pretty tea frock at her.

 

If he were straight, in another universe, another existence, she'd be a catch.

 

Loni smiled lopsidedly, accepting the article of clothing and his gratitude. She shimmied in, he zipped her up, fingers making an absent path along the outline of a delicate cap sleeve tattoo. (One would think having grown up in the Fundin household with Dwalin she'd have followed in his footsteps. Ori cataloged 7 their last encounter.)

 

“Right. Let's go full monty on this.”

 

“No, Loni - just, _no_. Don't use that saying, it's _embarrassing_.”

 

“Aww, do I embarrass you, _baaaaby_?”

 

“Hands off. HANDS OFF.”

 

"I want you and I to look fab together!"

 -

 

Balin Fundin lived in the most idyllic one family house Ori had ever seen right near Northwestern University. It was honestly devastating how smitten he was with it at first sight when Loni sashayed across the simple, segmented cement path winding through aberrant, yet well-trimmed patches of grass, arms linked. What was that artist's name -  Kinkade? A gorgeous country treasure in a city suburb straight out of a Thomas-tossing-Kinkade painting.

 

There had to be 3 stories, one cleverly hidden by the home's gable roof and Georgian style, red brick with windows adorned by worn pea-green shutters.

 

You ever get that sensation that you've _come home_? 

 

He must have been gawping awhile as Loni correctly read his slack-jawed appreciation, beaming. “Was a great place to grow up.”

 

Ori subdued a whimper threatening his vocal chords and she squeezed him at the elbow for courage, right on cue so he wouldn't forget the reason they were actually stood there.

 

 

Something certainly needed to be said that he had developed ineffable, amorous intentions for a building more profoundly and swiftly than he had for any living, breathing _being_ until his wonderful lady friend let them in to the quaint abode and they were greeted by-

 

“ _ **DWALIN!**_ ”

 

Loni's hand left his in slow motion, a cherry charm bracelet hooked on his outstretched pointer finger. She was being lifted up easily, her skirts twirling, so innocent against navy shirt and dark denim.

 

He froze when a looming, black spotlight gaze trapped him there at the door, predatory and calculating. Protective.

 

_Bugger me._


	3. Shall we get intimate again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors where there were only walls."  
> Campbell, Joseph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got incredibly sick the last week or so - at one point I may have asked my boyfriend to end my misery. Joking or not, he definitely didn't approve!
> 
> But here I am, once again, and I have a tiny gift.
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rWZr2F0qohA&feature=share&list=PL-kWaYW-KaQyqVFx8SkYCwXaBA3eUsXtN A playlist I've been compiling whilst writing for you all! 
> 
> Again, thank you so much for your comments, kudos and bookmarks - aaah, kisses and booty grabs for everyone. You're marvelous. <3

Dwalin hadn't quite scared Ori as a child as much as he had awed him. He was everything the youngster reveled in stories – King Arthur's knight with stoic sensibility, but unfailingly loyal. He would trail him as an ankle-biter up into his teens.

 

Sir Dwalin: Knight and amazingly patient babysitter.

 

And not once did Dwalin peer down at him with annoyance. Maybe fond aggravation when the Durin boys put him up to tricks and games (especially the time they'd convinced Ori he and Dwalin should get married – he'd been 10) , but never, ever like _this_.

 

His blood was sizzling under the attention.

 

Ori giggled hysterically, covering his mouth, then thinking better of it, extended his hand toward the mountain man.

 

Dwalin had been formidable in his 20s, and now (37, 38 years old?) the bastard was a Norse mythical hero immortalized in living stone, no longer an Arthurian legend. The youngest Fundin had collected a lot more than 7 tattoos, too, and Ori could all but make out some of his favorite epics mapping tan skin over tough sinew. A walking Nordic tapestry that he wanted to study forever.

 

Dwalin's palpable ire seemed to dilute when Ori flashed him his best disarming smile. They shook as he murmured “Ori” softly in lieu of a more hospitable salutation.

 

_Well, what a firm grip! Don't quite recall it being so iron-like. I dare say he could easily snap my manhood in half just by thinking it._ _**I'm going to die here.** _

 

Thankfully Loni came to his rescue, slinking back over to him guiltily, taking the bracelet he was clutching. “Sorry, babe,” and then for only him to hear, “I had no idea he was done with his routes this early.” She grimaced.

 

Today had just become 10x messier.

 

_Put your Big Boy Trousers on, you idiot._

 

“Orville!” Balin greeted as he emerged from what appeared to be a sun room of some kind. The elder man was unchanged except for a healthy head of silver and a few wizened wrinkles. Same twinkling eyes and affable demeanor.

 

Ori came forward with Loni at his elbow again, hoping his frantic clinging to her side could pass as affection and not the fear of large Scotsman wrought in him. He and Balin exchanged pleasantries, a familiar feeling of lovingness in his belly gradually replacing trepidation. 

 

Balin ushered his guest and charge to the kitchen through the dining area, the kitchen cabinets glistening white, a stainless steel fridge set into a wall with oven and dishwasher connected by black granite countertops.

 

“Looks like Nori didn' totally corrupt ya.”

 

Ori's head whipped toward Dwalin, brows pinched. _**Excuse**_ _me? Where the hell did_ _ **that**_ _come from?_ _Was that meant to be_ _ **humorous**_ _?_ Loni let out a small squeak of protest at her guardian's curt choice of words, but he smiled reassuringly as he faced the (much) taller man, keeping his tone light and civil. “Yes, it's amazing how you can live with and love someone unconditionally.”

 

Goose-bumps rose on his forearms, the other occupants of the room staring at him. Shit. He hadn't meant to sound so harsh in return.

 

Dori had, once upon a time, said something very similar and cruel about Nori. Ori was too young and at a point where he'd never talk back to Dori, _ever_. A few things had changed since then. Nori and Dori overcame many familial obstacles together. It'd been a knee-jerk reaction that Ori almost wanted to take back, to be the better man.

 

 _Almost_.

 

“I'm sorry, laddie. We've tried, Loni 'n I, but unfortunately Dwalin is not as cannie as we'd hope. Missin' some social ques and filters– if you get my meaning - so go easy on 'em.”

 

Loni pressed her mouth tight, snorting unattractively as Dwalin slowly, in silent fury, turned toward his older brother.

 

“When he first came back from his tour with Her Majesty's Royal Navy he had good bearin', but ah – was still a wee bit cocksure. Dorian remedied _that_ quickly.” Balin winked, very pleased to see the younger Fundin squirm.

 

“ _Thanks_ ,” Dwalin groused, though any real venom was lacking as he put an old kettle on the hob for Balin and Ori, then went to fiddle with a small Keurig coffee machine. Ah, was Dwalin actually trying not to _sulk_? Brilliant. Ori quietly preened until Dwalin craned his neck and point-blank fired a question straight through his amusement. “What 'bout yerself, lad?”

 

“Oh, me?” Ori rallied up his wit and picked a spice-infused tea from the boxes Balin offered him. “I graduated with a BA at Oxford. Applied to a few very promising post-grad programs at Northwestern, Loyola – have my heart set on Chicago Uni.”

 

 _Good reflexes_ , he thought with smug satisfaction as Dwalin fumbled the steeped teacup meant for him, caught it and handed it over with a slapped expression on his mien.

 

Their fingers brushed. Dry, ink-parched against labor rough-hewn. Ori suppressed a shiver, amazed at how strangely, openly nonplussed Dwalin seemed, like he couldn't figure him out, couldn't properly lay judgment on Loni's new 'boyfriend' despite pulling his best armory of questions out on him, attempting to find weakness.

 

Her boyfriend, whom also happened to be that quiet, clever tot that used to think the world of him.

 

Stormy irises darkened. Ori's next inhale hitched. No one had looked at him that way before. Without lust, delight, admiration, pity, jealousy, hate.

 

No one had looked at him just to see _him_.

 

He sort of...

 

“I'm glad he's won you over, but you can't have him Dwalin!”

 

Ori sprang away so fast his spine hit a chair, sending him pinwheeling arse over tit to everyone else's dismay.

 

An icepack, broken cup, wasted tea ( _ **wasted tea**_ _)_ and several pleads for the ground to swallow him later the evening smoothed out. They sat and ate a delicious meal Balin prepared. The elder filled in any cracks Loni had left, Dwalin rumbling his own two-cents sparingly. Any tense atmosphere had been dissipated and wonderful memories were shared.

 

On his departure that evening Dwalin gave him a two-word apology and his blessing. Balin eagerly shook his hand, a blessing, invitation back and request to assist with any of his future uni applications wrapped in one.

 

Loni giggled when he buried his nose in her hair, twisting them on the front stoop, thanking her over and over and over...

 

* * *

 

 

Ori got no rest. He threw off the bedsheets, convinced Dori had replaced his duvet with a wool blanket and he hadn't noticed, digging the heels of his hands into his eye-sockets until fireworks exploded.

 

Shame twinged in him as he swallowed, brought one hand back down to his hip, boxer briefs waistband, around his painfully hot arousal, and hated himself more so for thinking of work-calloused fingers instead.

 

 _Damn it, you're not 15 anymore, damn itdamnitdamnit_ – _you bloody hypocrite_ –

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

His birthday landed in the middle of the week, inconvenient and awkward for everyone else to try and get off early - if at all - but Ori couldn't be bothered when Dori nipped out of the house just before he awoke, leaving a full English breakfast for him downstairs.

 

It was a silly, trivial thing to do. Even so he had to stop himself from calling and leaving a sob-filled voicemail. Dori might _actually_ leave work and come running to coddle him.

 

Nori emerged from the depths of his lair, the basement flat of the townhouse, Nosferatu-style, coolly rocking pitch-black shades (to most likely tide an intense hangover). He handed Ori a shiny new iPhone 5. “Plan's switched over, munchkin. Try not to rack up the bill talking your bird's knickers off, alright?”

 

Ori had to be peeled away, but Nori eventually left with a genuine smile and salute, saying he would try to be home for the weekend so the youngest Rimmer could be taken to dinner. Ori started running through the kitchen and fist-bumping in joy to an imaginary audience. He set his old iPhone 4 down next to his gift on the island and went about sorting his data plan over with quick efficiency, eyes rolling when a delayed text came through from his ' _amor_.'

 

 **Morning my little orange peel** (that had to be the strangest pet name she'd come up with so far) **– you already know I unfortunately had a previous engagement today that I will make up to you with marvelous late birthday sex** ( _Christ_ ) **, but I sent you a present! Should be along any minute. Don't have too much fun without me! - Xxx Loni**

 

Don't have too much fun without me? He'd given her Dori's information for Balin so they could correspond! Sweet mercy, he hoped she hadn't left a bloody dildo on his doorstep or something equally humiliating. Ori had a strange abhorrence to dildos. He never could quite explain it.

 

Following a quick shower he dressed in a light red short sleeved Oxford with washed out slim fit jeans, liking that he didn't have to dress to the nines on his Big Day and still feel pretty damn good.

 

A rush of well wishes blew up his phone intermittently for a solid 15 minutes when the door rang, and he took the smart phone from a small little speaker doc in the living room, cutting off lovely instrumental melodies of Explosions in the Sky.

 

Voices drifted from behind the front door and he tread carefully, unsure of who it could be, but then the voices grew in volume.

 

What if Loni had gotten him a male stripper? Stripper **s**?

 

Ori actually took a moment to weigh the pros and cons, deciding he didn't need any Magic Mike subplots going on, so he threw the door open.

 

Which subsequently put a stopper on Fili and Kili's loud chatter. Kili was in the middle of lighting a cigarette, but he swiftly repositioned it behind his ear, his once Shirley Temple dark curls currently cropped enough to tuck near the cigarette – Fili's sandy-colored cut nearly identical.

 

And though they were filled out young bucks in their skin-tight crew necks and cargos the matching toothy grins flashed Ori's way were dialed back circa 1997 - an age of innocence.

 

“ORVILLE,” they crowed in unison, gesturing wide.

 

Ori's excitement hit him full-force and he shrieked unintelligibly, leaping at the brothers in a display that Loni would have approved or possibly gotten high marks at the Olympic sandpits.

 

“Sorry if we're stopping you from getting to your bleeding GQ shoot – fucking hell, Ori!” Fili stood at arm's length, brows raised.

 

“Come off it,” he tittered, pushing at his old friend's face as he tried to preserve a shred of modesty, then Kili goosed his arse. “KILI!”

 

“He's right, mate. Lookit you, I feel under dressed and rough. We had a _pact._ You weren't meant to get prettier than me!” Kili huffed, wrangling Ori to him so they were pressed cheek to cheek, causing Fili to snigger. “I don't think football on the tele and a few rounds is gonna cut it, Fee.”

 

Ori buzzed his lips, ready to admonish that he wasn't anything to write home about, and seeing them on his doorstep had sufficiently made his birthday perfect, then he came short. “Kili. Killian. How old are you?”

 

“Aw no, don't start Ornery Ori! Forget American laws, I've been drinkin' since I could reach to pay for my tab when we lived in Ireland!”

 

Fili leaned into the scholar, sheepish as he cajoled them out of a potential spat. “Heey now, the place we had in mind is our usual haunt – the owner's fine with him being underage. We're good for it.” He smiled so hard his stupid, cute dimples might cause angels to fall.

 

Ori slouched and pouted at the siblings, realizing literally NOTHING had changed between them. For better or for worse.

 

Piss.

 

“Fine, but only because I, for some reason only Brian Cox could explain, still love you two.”

 

Kili fluttered his charcoal lashes, slinging Ori closer to him suggestively.

 

“I'm sorry, treasure. Currently in a stable relationship right now,” Ori said, tweaking Kili's jaw. The Durin brothers outright guffawed at that.

 

“If you were really seeing Loni you'd deserve a reward, mate,” Fili bared his teeth. “Great girl, but a handful.”

 

“Aye,” Kili agreed, letting Ori go so he could lock the townhouse up. “She told us what she was doin' for you and we don't blame you for tellin' Dori what you had.We've tried to help along with Uncle Thorin's own love life, or utter lack of one. Promised him we don't care if he dates a man, a woman, a body pillow of Thomas the Tank Engine; hoped he'd get the message that it's...sorta how _we_ work.”

 

Ori slipped his key into his wallet, working up to say something in response, left speechless. How _we_ work?

 

Fili got him into motion down the sidewalk, Kili becoming his other bookend. “You could be a transgender vegan social justice blogger. If we have a mutual attraction, a mutual connection and you wanna root, you wanna cuddle, have a pint, go spelunking - it's gonna happen. I think kids these days call it...being pansexual? The whole labels thing kinda drives me mad. But the whole gay thing, we're over the moon for you, mate!”

 

Ori envied their ease with themselves. And he couldn't get over the irony that _they_ gave _Thorin_ 'the talk' about being yourself, never doubt who you are.

 

He imagined Thorin 'made me wet my pants once' Durin being informed love did not discriminate, be it cock, pussy or anything in between, and he took several moments to compose himself, his old excitement unfurling full-force in his lungs.

 

Mark down all three of his favorite childhood friends being utter fucking legends. His support group and spirit had grown exponentially the last few months.

 

“Alright, let's go to this bar you're such good patrons of. If there's a raid though I will sell you out faster than Judas, I swear-”

 

“A _raid_? Chicago - yes. Prohibition era - no. Ori, Ori, birthday boy, feel lucky you're so fetching. Reckon that might've been what got you through Oxford.”

 

“ _Oi_.”


	4. I shake in the rhythmic light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting."  
> \-- e. e. cummings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So unfortunately I hit one of those, "I know where I want this to go, but I'm having a hell of a personal time getting it out" moments with this story. I at least was able to punch out a small portion of the next chapter and want to get that up for myself as a sort of incentive to keep going (of course for YOU too, waiting so patiently.) I WILL keep going - hopefully having a job once more now will put me on the straight-and-responsible narrow. Thank you so, so much again for all of the support you've given!
> 
> (Please also enjoy my horrific Google Translate German)

Some 15 years ago Fili and Kili Durin had spun Ori's world on its proverbial axis just like they did all things. With the intent to change it forever, shifted so violently not a modicum of it remained the same. They were born forgers, craftsmen destined to always leave their mark emblazoned in the universe.

 

Where Dwalin Fundin was an epic novel, Loni Thomsen a cautionary tale, the Durins were intrinsic ballads spread far and wide, bringing cheer and hope to the people.

 

As they took him around in a crazed drive-by tourist circuit of the Windy City Ori wished he had hindsight enough to record them somehow – video, voice – anything, so he could write it up later and bury it with him 50 years from now. He was too busy riding the vapor trails of their never-ending starlight.

 

 _The Iliad of the Oddities_ , he'd call it, or (more simply put) _The Brothers Durin_ **.** Then again, Dostoevsky might come to haunt Ori for associating his beautiful tragedy with these two berks.

 

After grassing up the entirety of Lincoln Park's beaches an endless connection of trains and buses lead the trio to a dive (the epitome of a dive – if you look in your dictionary right now, under dive _noun_ (place) you will find Susie's depicted in a sleazy little sepia photo), down to its pure Americana greasy glow, but that could also be the plethora of neon signs luring in the drunk and confused.

 

The youngest Rimmer had no qualms with what his old mates back across the pond would dub 'crap American food'; it was mostly hot cheese over meat anything and that was one sure way to Ori's heart.

 

Kili hopped up to the little counter, inhaled so deeply the steam from the grill may have wafted up to meet his nostrils. He exhaled on a laugh.

 

A mocha-skinned kid his age wandered up in an apron and hairnet, the ennui of waiting for customers immediately dropping from him like a shroud. He smiled, reached forward to muss Kili's hair, but the Durin ducked out of the way in time. He introduced himself to Ori as Eddie, an acquaintance-cum-friend as Kili and Fili were patrons of Susie's.

 

Upon squinting at a marker drawn addition to their lengthy menu Eddie informed him the brothers were drunken collaborators of something called the Fuck It Bucket, though as social niceties mandate it read F**k It Bucket. For the children.

 

A few other hand written options lay above or beneath, to which Eddie explained many passersby or regulars offered up crazy (but highly delicious) ideas with what Susie had at its disposal.

 

Ori preened at such genius, eyes sparkling. “We're having the Fuck It Bucket, yeah?”

 

Fili peacocked with equal indecency at Ori's enthusiasm, nearly balancing on his diaphragm as he stretched over the counter top, “My darling, enchanting Doris! May we three gents partake of your divine cuisine that could cause Gordon Ramsey himself to cry and recant his ways of the critique?”

 

A woman that could only be aptly described in the same way you would describe a good, heady lager settled Fili with a dispassionate, however patient glare. “Sie und Ihre charmante 'e' wie 'i' und 'i' wie 'e'.*”

 

“Oh, love, you know what happens when you talk dirty to me. Ich bin verrückt nach dir.**”

 

Doris let out a rather pleasant, girlish titter at that, hard-edged features softening with a blush as she got to work scrapping rubbish off the flattop grill and loading the frier with chips.

 

Ori pulled Fili down by the waist of his pants, arse practically sticking out of his cargos, astounded. “Natürlich sprechen Deutsch. Du Bastard.***”

 

“Thorin was a bit of a mad man when it came to homeschoolin' us,” Kili remarked as he ran a finger through the air, absently mouthing to himself. He was scanning through another charming little sign that displayed way too many milkshake flavors to choose from, especially as the sign boasted you could combine whatever was listed.

 

What in God's holiest of names was the flavor 'Green River'?

 

“Pot, kettle, black,” Fili patted Ori's cheek, ordering a coconut rum shake as he propped his chin in his hands and watched with fondness as his younger brother went through what must have been a ritualistic and well-thought out debate over mocha black cherry or mocha cinnamon.

 

(Ori's lips puckered with Pavlovian effect – he'd loved cinnamon once, especially in his tea, until Nori convinced him to do Youtube challenges for a week.)

 

“I learned several languages in my major for potential careers. Thorin is just...” he let it drift unsaid as Fili and Kili simultaneously widened their eyes and nodded in mute, Vietnam flashback induced agreement.

 

The three then burst into peels of laughter, causing two girls that had come in to jump and join them in a fit of uncontrollable giggles, even if their shared happiness was for different reasons.

 

“My heart may actually give out,” Ori states, covering his mouth as he stares at the incredible meal before him.

 

A Fuck It Bucket consists of thus:

 

1 puffy taco shell

the innards of a Philly cheesesteak

1 lb of au jus soaked beef

1 chopped and boiled green pepper

shredded chicken

fried tomatoes

fried mushrooms

a hefty helping of crisps

and the most melted cheese Ori has ever seen outside of Switzerland

 

“Son, you don't even understaaand,” Kili singsongs, slapping his hands together in prayer. Then he winks (which makes Ori squirm every bloody time, the minx). “Tuck in, mother fucker, because after this we are getting you so pissed we may end up in a coma, or a threesome.” Fili barks out a sharp 'Oi!' that Kili ignores as he smacks down a pile of napkins. “My hopes are for the latter.”

 

Ori has a forkful of goodness at his mouth, thankful he hasn't taken a bite yet or it'd be everywhere.

\--

*You and your charming 'e' as 'i' and 'i' as 'e'.

**I'm crazy about you

***Of course you speak German. You bastard.


	5. We went out on the tear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is sadder to find the past again and find it inadequate to the present than it is to have it elude you and remain forever a harmonious conception of memory.  
> F. Scott Fitzgerald

He had been exceptionally proud that he’d kept it together until now, but as it stood he was 25 years old and snot-nosed crying in a pub like someone had stolen his Kinder Egg, complete with wibbly hiccoughs and Dori shushing him, throwing baleful glares at anyone who would heckle his sweet nature.

 

Nori (the lying, sneaky, **wonderful** bastard) was trying to coax him into better spirits while Bo (oh GOD, BOFUR AND BOMBUR, was Bif here too - bloody buggering hell) procured a pint from the tap to put into his limp hand, encouraging a good grip. Bofur hadn’t changed at all, hippy hair a bit peppered with eyes that reflected show tunes and the worst jokes that always made him laugh.

 

Fili and Kili apologized very halfheartedly about leading him on, too proud that he had had absolutely no idea what was in store for him.

 

Ori sat down on a high chair in the middle of the empty-but-for-them place with his drink and a watery smile. Bo ushered his brother Bom out of the kitchens and he looked very put out at not being able to finish the shepherd's pies he was cooking. Bif was more amenable as he continued peeling potatoes, happier than a lark.

 

Bless him and his odd, mute ways.

 

The Durin brothers buffeted their Uncle from the back office (he'd cut his own Fabio-worthy hair as well, but kept a trimmed beard - and dare he guess - appeared to be not as tightly wound up), where he had been apparently speaking with Balin, Dwalin (gulp) and…

 

“Gandalf!” Ori cried, standing, then sitting back down when the aforementioned man towered over him, shaking his shoulders.

 

“Orville, my boy, you’re making me feel so old,” the solicitar (perhaps retired?) chuckled, stealing a chair for himself as the rest of the party joined them, buffeting Ori around, ruffling his hair until he was fit to burst with love. Then there was someone there in the parting of people, someone Ori didn’t quite recognize. He was perhaps late early 30s with a childlike upturned nose, barely to anyone’s shoulder, well-dressed in trousers and waistcoat, but nowhere near like Nori’s dapper gentleman facade. His smart attire may be attributed more from caring for his belongings than vanity, and his smile was uncertain if not friendly.

 

“Ah yes,” Gandalf segued flawlessly, eyes like struck flint, “Orville, this is my dear friend Mr. Baggins. I hope you do not mind him being here...though you did not even know you would be here today yourself.” His crows feet were characterful rather than aged.

 

“It’s not like he’s a stranger,” Kili hummed from Ori’s right, touching his tongue to his bottom lip as he gave Thorin a meaningful glance.

 

Thorin stewed, still barely having muttered anything but “many happy returns” in a grunt, and Fili steamrolled through, “He was one of...Uncle Thorin’s mates as well.”

 

Oh, Ori remembered now! Christ, it’d been even longer since he’d seen this particular fellow. The only human being Thorin Durin had ever showed interest in, though their affair was brief and bittersweet. Gandalf had helped him when his parents had passed away quite suddenly and had assimilated into their mixed unit. “We called you Uncle Billy. Bilbo Baggins.”

 

Bilbo, with a blush suffused on his cheeks from the brothers’ bluntness and Thorin’s own embarrassed expression, smiled. “I used to read you lads stories to bed, but when you got bored I’d make up my own.”

 

“And now he’s a hotshot writer that got himself a sweet as publisher in the city,” Fili interrupted again, squawking when Thorin covered his mouth and rumbled in warning at subsonic level, “Are you two about done?”

 

Bilbo sat between Ori and Gandalf, pointedly staring Thorin down, but to the young man’s surprise they shared a strangely...companionable look.

 

That was...nice.

 

Note to self: Text Loni about possibly epic renewed romance...ask how she is..no, first, cuss her out for totally being a part of his surprise party...subtly follow up with if Dwalin is, in fact, single...immediately omit that last part.

 

Ori giggled to himself. 

 

Not long after dinner Balin wandered off to have a smoke with Gandalf (or a very serious talk; smoking was always their secret code) and Ori was gradually plied with more drinks until he was just grinning like a daft, happy bastard. He prodded ‘Uncle Billy’ to tell him all about his writing, and Bofur might have doggedly offered him a spliff at one point, but Dori warned him to “hide that blasted thing unless you want us all without green cards and deported.”

 

He learned the brothers Gloin and Oin were still back in London at Oin’s GP - they’d wanted to pop by for a holiday visit, but Oin’s vertigo had gotten worse, so while he was wary of traveling by plane Gloin had quit his EMT job to go back to school, become an assistant to the practice and keep food on the table for his own family.

 

Ori still couldn't believe Bofur owned this place, even with Bif and Bom helping out. The pub in Cork that they'd inherited, then left behind because of the economy, had to have been owned by someone else for at least 6 years - they'd never made a lot when it sold and didn't get far with their toy shop near Covent, but here they were.

 

Miraculously having optimal luck in America. In Chicago. Just like the rest of them.

 

Huh.

 

And that is why, through the proverbial purple haze, Ori realized that there was a bit more going on than just birthday shenanigans. His effervescent (alcohol-fueled) glow dimmed a bit when Thorin and Dwalin skipped off back into Bofur’s office, whispering heatedly about something that obviously doused everyone's' good mood.

 

What was it? He was being an ungrateful prat, he knew, but the strangeness was niggling there...

 

Bofur continued to play with a frayed bit of his jeans, rebuffing Nori’s attempts to get him in on a pool for England’s next match in the World Cup, then sprung up and declared he and Bom should clear their dinner dishes and get the cake. Kili immediately offered to help, and Bofur cheekily tweaked a nipple, saying he was more likely to help eat most of it then bring it over.

 

Kili plopped back down, rubbing his abused chest, frowning so hard he looked like that ridiculous Grumpy Cat meme.

 

The remaining reprobates tried to crack on as if the awkwardness did not exist, tucking in to a perfect slice of cake (that Nori shoved his face in). Ori couldn’t get his everything-is-perfect vibe back, so just as Fili was about to recommend a game of pool his brain-to-mouth filter finally seemed to malfunction.

  
“Why did everyone _really_ move here?”


	6. Truly, Truly, Truly Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you aren't in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?"  
> \- T. S. Eliot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh life, why have you forsaken me. 
> 
> I'm so grateful for the patience of people on this website; honestly!
> 
> Not beta'd or britpicked as per usual!

The next thing he remembers is waking up, or better put, reviving himself while flirting with a rather nasty hangover. He can practically hear the klaxon alert his brain is sending out - warning, warning, do NOT open eyes, do not engage in direct sunlight or sudden movements. 

Something must have faced a horrific death in his mouth. 

He doesn't panic, just sighs in disappointment at himself at such puerile behavior, birthday or no birthday. They’d had a good time, or at least to his vague recollection ended up on a good note, but he hadn't meant to get so pissed up that he avoided alcohol poisoning just this side of annihilated. His heart raced with the effort of squirming to get more comfortable on the...futon?

Ori raised his arms after much effort to shield either side of his face like blinders on a horse, whinging as sitting up felt worse than having done 500 crunches.

He was dying. He was actually dying, and it wasn't even by Dwalin’s hands (though God   
Almighty, he would give anything to go by le petite morte via a roguish Scotsman), but by liquor. 

High marks for Orville Rimmer, the Oxford graduate. Hip-hip --

He doubled over and was sick into a conveniently placed rubbish bin already filled with water and a bit of vomit. Thankfully it seemed like there wasn't much left to sick up, so he ended up hung over the bin reflecting on his choices in life for a bit. 

After having a kip in that position Ori woke up again as his mobile alarm twittered like a demonic entity, scrambling through the futon duvet for the fiendish thing, then he flopped down on his stomach.

11:35AM. Why had he set an alarm for just before noon? Did he have a doctor’s appointment? Dentist...a meeting to make a deal with the devil?

After a cursory glance around he realized this must be Fili and Kili’s place - there was a long bow tucked near a thrifted computer desk and a very big sword that he swore had been Thorin’s (an inherited heirloom that used to sit in his old living room). The flat was church quiet, so they may have gone off to work and left him to fend for himself (and rightly so, he would have never heard the end of it if they babied him). 

Re-hydration was first on the menu so Ori forced himself up again to grab a glass from what he hopped was the kitchen, scrounge some breakfast if they didn't mind-

“Oh, bollocks, I-” he stuttered out, choking on his spit when he realized he’d walked in on a very intimate moment at the kitchen counter. Of the fellating nature.

“On the surface where food is prepared,” Ori seethed, “Have you no respect? I just wanted some Raisin Bran and yoghurt, but you’ve ruined it now, I’ll never be able to look at plain yoghurt the same again. Fuck’s sake you both, I was in the living room, are you serious? Couldn't kick me out first? You’re lucky I was already ill, as I might have chundered all over you, though I’m sure that’d made hits on PornHub somewhere. Ugh.” He put his hands on his hips and kept trying to breathe.

Meanwhile the brothers looked absolutely gobsmacked, and where they had paled considerably before they were now bright red.

“You don’t...you’re not...that’s all ya have to say?” Fili wheezed, motioning between himself and Kili after he scrambled to get his jersey shorts back on.

“Christ, no, but give me a moment though.” Ori stopped his breathing techniques and saw that Kili was in a defensive huddle away from Fili, face stubbornly set, and Fili was barely stopping himself from trying to reconnect them by hand or shoulder somehow.

Shit.

“I didn't mean...I don’t care that you two are together,” Ori clarified. Say what you will, but they’d been practically inseparable when Kili was born - their mother, Dis (or Dizzy, as her brothers had called her) thought nothing of how Fili would watch him, defend him, love him so selflessly during their sibling-hood. She had brothers, knew brothers, sisters, felt that intimate connection and protection that came with.

And they’d felt the profound sting of loss for their mother, father and youngest uncle too soon. Struggled, as far as Ori understood, with Thorin despite his fierce love for them.

It was not right, in some ways, but how could he fault them or cast stones? No...in fact, they were in the same boat in that respect. Weren't they?

“Honestly, I’m too hungover to convey how much shit I do not give about this, but you have to be more careful, yeah? If it was just ‘cause you felt comfortable around me or forgot I was here...OK, stop looking like two puppies left at the side of the road in the rain and give me a hug.”

Fili and Kili practically pushed any bile still in his stomach out of him when they squeezed him from either side. When he felt the minute tremors of adrenaline rush relief coming from them, though, he fought down his nausea to whisper words of encouragement in their huddle until they let him go to sit at their card-cum-kitchen table.

Kili, ever the 5 star chef, toasted Ori a Pop-Tart and snuck his fingers through Fili’s in the middle of the table as he sat Fili’s opposite.

A rather pregnant pause came across them.

“The Arkenstone,” Fili at last intoned stoically, and Ori did a double-take, thinking Thorin had suddenly joined them. “That’s why we’re here. All of us, nice and cozy, in the States. But Uncle stuffed up trying to bring that up at your ‘do, mate. I’m sorry...I got a bit upset. He and I had a row...”

Ah, right. Ori had started that whole gaffe, hadn't he? And then everyone had steered the conversation to safer waters until Thorin had stormed back in with Dwalin cussing, both a force to be reckoned with. Well then.

“The Arkenstone was the name given by your uncle’s ancestors, I believe,” Ori said, managing a smile when the brothers looked shocked. “Literature major, remember? It’s a book. It was also noted in some texts being referred to as the The Silmarillion by literary masters. Early Irish literature, like the Ogham, were said to be oldest literature in Western Europe not written in Latin. But this could possibly pre-date it. Pieces were found with languages that looked like Old Norse runes as well, and they say it may have partially been an almanac of some kind. Absolutely nothing else has been found in decades, though. It’s become the Atlantis of the written word.” 

The prospect was a bit daunting and impossible if Thorin had chased one of Ori’s favorite bedtime stories all his and his nephews’ lives as if it were kismet. When he’d grown older and no longer believed in Santa or wizards he’d thought that was that. He’d gone to different secondary schools than the Durin boys and Loni of course, then Uni. Had Dori tried to keep him away but was swallowed back into the vortex?

“Uncle’s been obsessed. He was humiliated when his father and gran’father were discredited; could've gotten recognition for introducing new literature to the Western Canon. And he’s positive someone found it.” Kili huffed, playing with a nearly empty packet of cigarettes near him. “They wanted you and Bilbo in on it. Since Balin’s too well-associated with the Durin line.”

Ori leaned back sharply as if they’d physically landed an anchor in his lap, mooring him in place. Had...had everyone known? Even Loni? Had HE been duped this whole time?

Speak of the Devil - they heard a frantic rapping on the apartment door accompanied by Loni’s yowling of their names. Ori stood and after nearly going to the toilet on accident opened their front door, catching her as she once again seemed to launch herself in his arms, though she was wearing an oversized hoodie and yoga bottoms.

“Ori-baby-lambel shank, I’msososorry, Thorin’s such a prick, I had no idea and he had no right --” She finally quelled when he rubbed her nape.

“It’s alright, love, it’s ok. I’m not sure how much Fili and Kili told you --”

Loni sniffed, shaking her head as she pulled back and whispered, “No, they didn’t want to bother me...it was Dwalin that called asking if I was with you and if you were alright.”

At that moment the brothers chose to pop out of the kitchen with twin expressions of interest.

“Did he now?”

“He could have rang US.”

“But that would have been obvious, wouldn't it Ki?”

Loni’s contriteness utterly transformed into an expectant, damning eyebrow raise. What a conniving little diva...

“Oh, like you all didn't know I've wanted to shag him sideways since the dawn of time, come off it. This isn't a bloody revelation. You fancied Bofur,” Ori snapped, almost pushing Loni away, but thought better of it at the last minute.

“Ori, first of all, what do you mean ‘fancied’? I would still do things to that mustache...prooow. Secondly, do not deflect. We all know about you...but not about Dwalin. He’s not been as stone cold as Mr. King of the Mountain, but...I thought he was in a dry spell.”

A frisson of something long-since buried and hopeful lances through Ori’s limbic system.

“Don’t. Loni, please. No more fake dating, real dating, existential crisis dating - nothing. You and I already have it complicated enough planning a fake break-up. You two,” Ori jabs at the Durins as they physical vibrate on the spot. “Have even more explaining to do, since you've known all about this from the start.”

“They think the book is with one of the heirs to the Drake Hotel business!” Kili blurts out, then slaps on a hand to his face. 

Mein Gott. Das ist nicht gut. Ori steeples his hands against his mouth as if he could possibly pray away this situation, his previous heart palpitation over Dwalin dissipated. They expected him to rub elbows with a Drake, who may or may not have this fairy tale book, cater to someone by inheritance alone had more money than the entire entourage had ever made collectively in their lifetimes. 

“I need two Paracetamol and the best tea you can find me. A foot rub. See if you can find Ab Fab on Netflix.”

\----

This is impossible. Actually impossible. They’re all mad, clearly during their navy days they did copious amounts of blow and came up with these wild escapades while thinking they were something from a Games of Thrones novel.

“I can’t even pull a runner,” Ori laments, nursing the last dregs of his drink. Maybe the little gritty tea leaves could divine his future. He shakes it like an eightball, thinking he can see something that spells out d-e-a-d and regards his mobile. 

Tick-tock tick-tock

To call or not to call Bilbo. To call or not to call Dwalin. Ah, stuck between the lesser of two evils.

The decision is made for him as his mobile jiggles across the tabletop with an unknown number on display and he snatches it up while Loni, Kili and Fili practically fall out of their resting positions, waiting for Ori.

“He-llo, this is Ori speaking--” he says perhaps a bit too eagerly, voice still hoarse from the abuse against his esophagus. He sighs when Bilbo’s returns his greeting softly, initiating an apology on Thorin’s behalf like Bilbo is still in such an intimate position to do so. Ori rebuffs this and older man lets out a sigh to end all sighs.

“They do all realize this is absolutely insane.”

“Of course they do, Ori, it’s why they’re doing it, like we’re some Ocean’s Eleven team.” Bilbo tuts over the receiver, and through some psychic communication they both say, “Coffee” at the same time.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.


End file.
